


No Surrender

by howitfeelstoloveagirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, basically a series of mickey monologues from ages six to sixteen, lots of mickey being a fucking great big brother, mentions of child abuse, mentions of child abuse because terry is a fucking horrible father, protect mickey and mandy milkovich to no end, terry milkovich is a fucking dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howitfeelstoloveagirl/pseuds/howitfeelstoloveagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey was six year old, and he couldn’t read or write. He didn’t know how to ride a bike, tie his shoes, or count past ten. But he could roll a joint and open a beer. And he did know how to clean a gun, work a microwave, and make his little sister stop crying. He didn’t understand the rules of go fish or freeze tag, but he was very good at hide and seek. Mickey knew all the best hiding places in his house, and he could stay still and silent for hours. He had to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the same titled song by Bruce Springsteen, which also happens to be a fucking great song if you haven't heard it before. Also, this is my first Shameless fic, and feedback would be appreciated (:

Mickey was six year old, and he couldn’t read or write. He didn’t know how to ride a bike, tie his shoes, or count past ten. But he could roll a joint and open a beer. And he did know how to clean a gun, work a microwave, and make his little sister stop crying. He didn’t understand the rules of go fish or freeze tag, but he was very good at hide and seek. Mickey knew all the best hiding places in his house, and he could stay still and silent for hours. He had to. 

Mickey played hide and seek every day with his family. He played it when his dad came home from the bar every night, and when his mom brought over her friends with the red eyes and polka dot arms. Mickey hid in the cupboard under the sink, the laundry hamper in his brother Iggy’s room, and, if he was really desperate, the space under the porch steps. But Mickey only did that when his dad’s liquor shelf was newly filled, or his mom’s candy box was newly emptied, because it was cold and dark and scary, and it made his little sister, Mandy, cry.

Mandy wasn’t as good at hide and seek as Mickey. She was smaller and younger and didn’t understand the rules as well. Her tiny body could fit almost anywhere, so sometimes Mickey had time to push her in a drawer or under the couch if he didn’t have time to get to one of their special places. But Mandy wasn’t very good at staying quiet. She would call out for Mickey, and start crying if he didn’t come. And she wasn’t very good at staying still, she would whine and fidget and kick her feet if Mickey held her down. She didn’t understand that they had to win the game, or else their parents would.

He loved his parents though, they were his family and family was more important than anything. He loved his dad even when he hit him over the head with a beer can for not getting out of the armchair fast enough. He loved his dad even as he picked the glass out of his own forehead and washed the blood from his face. He loved his mom, too. And he knew she loved him, because she told him all the time. She told him she loved him when she accidentally slapped him, or when her hand was too shaky and she needed him to push the needle into her arm. 

Mickey was supposed to be in kindergarten, but he hadn’t been to school in a long time. School was confusing, and the kids laughed at him when he didn’t know what the squiggles on the page meant, and nobody played with him because they said he was dirty and gross. The teacher always got mad at him, too, because he didn’t raise his hand before speaking and he took things without asking. So he’d stopped talking, which only made the teacher angrier. She said he had no manners. He didn’t even know what a manner was. 

Also, when Mickey went to school Mandy had to stay at home. Mandy was too little to reach the kitchen counter and not strong enough to hold the milk jug without spilling it. Mickey had tried leaving her in the closet with snacks and toys but she was never there when he came home. Instead he’d find her in the bathroom with red marks and wet eyes. So, Mickey had stopped leaving her home without him.

Mickey had four older brothers, but they were never at home. He supposed he wouldn’t be either, if he had anywhere to go. Jamie would distract his dad if he got too close to Mickey, and Iggy would hand him things from the top shelf, but they all told Mickey the same thing. That he was getting older now, he wasn’t a baby anymore, and he had to start pulling his weight. That meant Mickey had to roll weed, and clean guns for his dad, and steal food and make dinner for his mom. Mickey stayed up very late each night, long past when the TV started playing infomercials. Each night when he finished he would crawl into bed and snuggle up next to Mandy, even though she hogged the covers and she still wet the bed at night, because if she had a nightmare he had to be able to cover her mouth before their dad woke up. 

 

Mickey was eleven years old, and he was teaching Mandy to read and write. It was hard, because he still wasn’t very good at it himself. There were lots of letters and lots of words and Mandy asked a lot of questions. There weren’t many books in their house, and Mickey had been banned from the school library since he’d been caught smoking in the stacks. So, Mickey was teaching Mandy to read using their dad’s gun maintenance handbooks and his brother’s car magazines. He wished he could get some of those fairy tales his teacher had read to them a couple years ago, because he thought Mandy would like them better, but at least this way Mandy was ready for when she would start having to help their dad with his business. She was nine years old, and Mickey had been trying to shield her from their dad’s messed up life for as long as he could, but since his mom had died last year his dad needed more hands, especially those who couldn’t say no.

Mickey was very good at helping his dad. He was already allowed on runs. He felt proud to be standing behind his dad, the toughest and scariest guy he knew, with a baseball bat in his hand. His dad had chosen Mickey to use the bat, even over Iggy and Joey, who were both bigger and older than him. That had made him smile. His dad had told him he could see promise in Mickey, and said he’d grow up to be just like him one day. That hadn’t made Mickey smile very much. 

Mickey helped his dad whenever he could. He wanted to make his dad proud, and live up to the Milkovich name as best he could, because Mickey had a secret. He thought about it every day, and he couldn’t look his dad in the eye without feeling scared and guilty. Scared, because he knew how livid his dad would be if he found out, and guilty, because he knew he deserved every awful thing his dad would do to him. 

Since fourth grade, it seemed all any of his friends wanted to talk about was girls. And it was the same at home, his brothers and cousins were always exchanging stories of their hookups, and comparing the girls in their neighborhood's breasts. Mickey laughed along at their stories even though most of them grossed him out. Porn wasn’t something that was hidden in the Milkovich house. For his last birthday it was all he’d gotten from his brothers. Mickey had never even opened most of them. Though he’d been curious, he didn’t feel anything when he looked at the pictures, not like his brother’s had told him he would. So he’d shoved them in his drawer and hadn’t thought much of it for the next couple months.

Then, a new family had moved in down the street. The dad was just as big and scary as Terry, so naturally they’d become friends. Or, at least, drinking partners. The other dad had a son his age, named Scotty. When their dads were very drunk, Mickey would drop Mandy off at his aunts and go hang out with Scotty. Scotty was cool, and Mickey liked being with him. They’d hop the El and sneak into movies, set up coke cans and see who could out shoot the other, and climb up onto the roof of the church and smoke. 

One time when they were watching TV and Scotty’s leg overlapped his, Mickey felt himself go hard. He blushed, but he remembered what Iggy had said about boners happening at random times and he felt better. But then it happened again when they were wrestling, and again when they were playing soccer. Mickey had told Scotty he felt sick and had ran home and locked himself in the bathroom. He couldn’t deny it, he knew what he’d wanted to do when he found his face inches from Scotty’s. He couldn’t deny it, but he knew he could never ever act on those urges. It would go away if he just ignored it. He wasn’t gonna be some fucking homo. 

 

Mickey was fifteen years old and it seemed the only words he ever read were faggot, homo and queer. He read them in big angry letters on the signs at the neo nazi rallies his dad took him to, and scrawled in sharpie on the foreheads of the poor sons of bitches his dad beat the shit out of for wearing pink. 

Mickey knew as well as anybody being gay was wrong. It was disgusting, unnatural, and definitely not something a real man would ever be. Gays were weak and disease ridden. Mickey hated gays. 

Mickey Milkovich was not gay. He wasn’t. He had had urges towards boys but he had never kissed a boy, never even touched a boy. He wasn’t gay. He liked girls. He had sex with them all the time. Unlike his brothers, girls didn’t make him nervous at all. He had no problem asking them for a fuck in front of a whole crowd of people, and virtually no fear of rejection. “Now, that’s a real man”, his cousin had said in awe. Mickey had liked that. 

He was a tough fucker, ask anyone. The entire southside of Chicago was scared shitless of Mickey Milkovich. Nobody would dare to call him gay, even though he’s not, because they know he’d pound the shit out of them if he did. Mickey stole, scammed, fought, and fucked like a man. 

Still, Mickey couldn’t help but be curious. It didn’t mean anything, he was just curious. When he watched porn, he couldn’t help but focus in on the guy. But it was only because he saw himself in the guy. He only looked to the guy to see how to act and what to do. That was all. He wasn’t a faggot. 

 

Mickey was seventeen years old and he hated himself. He hated what he’d done, and who he was. He wanted to throw up every time he looked in the mirror, and saw the faggot staring back at him. He hated Ian Gallagher, he hated what he’d made him become. But he couldn’t stop going back to the red head, and he hated himself even more for it.

After the first time with Ian, Mickey had locked himself in the bathroom for so long even his dad had noticed something was up. But he couldn’t face his family, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d let them down. He knew they wouldn’t love him anymore if they found out. He wondered if his mom still did, or if she was looking down on him in disgust. He’d stayed in the shower until the water was cold, and had even cried. Which only confirmed he was a complete faggot. God, he wanted to kill himself. Just like all the homos he’d beaten up over the years, he didn’t deserve to live. 

But every time Mickey brought the gun to his head or the knife to his wrist he couldn’t do it. He thought of his little sister. Mandy needed him, and he couldn’t leave her. She was the only thing he had in his crummy world, the only person he knew truly cared about him. If Mickey was gone, who would protect her from old pervs and drunk losers? Who would protect her from their dad? So each time Mickey would put the gun back in his pocket, the knife back in the drawer. He couldn’t let his baby sister down. 

He almost told Mandy a thousand times. But the words could never quite form in his mouth. He wanted to tell her about him, and about Ian. He didn’t know what he felt for Gallagher, but he knew he didn’t want to lose him. He knew Mandy wouldn’t have a problem with it, and he knew she’d never tell their dad. Hell, she probably already knew what Ian was. But every time he opened his mouth he couldn’t do it, because a part of him was still scared of the rejection, and the truth was he’d never said it out loud before. Mickey Milkovich was gay, and he hated himself for it.


End file.
